


Resounding Gong, Clanging Cymbal

by Elizabeth_Scripturient



Category: BtVS - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Languages, religious allusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-19
Updated: 2006-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Scripturient/pseuds/Elizabeth_Scripturient
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." (1 Corinthians 13:1, NIV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resounding Gong, Clanging Cymbal

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, [originally written](http://medie.livejournal.com/1287733.html?thread=7911989#t7911989) for [](http://medie.livejournal.com/profile)[**medie**](http://medie.livejournal.com/)'s [porn battle](http://medie.livejournal.com/1287733.html), prompt: Giles/Jenny, languages

Jenny was fluent in Romani as well as Latin and French. They would whisper to each other, both in bed and out. For those two brief moments there was nothing in the world but each other.

He tried to teach her Sumerian once, but she said she'd rather not know what he was saying. He, on the other hand, had to restrain a twinge of anxiety every time she would mutter something he couldn't understand, recalling his days with Ethan. Ethan who was always full of surprises. And he could still grow hard recalling some of those surprises, but even then the endorphins were sometimes mixed with fear, and certainly he was too old for all that now.

She just wanted to get lost in his voice, while he was always trying to find her. One night he asked her to lie nude on the bed, and he worked his way from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, kissing her skin gently and murmuring the name of each body part in turn. She was shaking by the time he reached her hips, but she managed to keep silent until he returned to her quim, more than kissing her, and she screamed.

"Patience may be a virtue, but that payoff was sinfully good," she laughed into his kisses when she could breathe again.

He caught himself chanting an Irish protection rune one night as they fell asleep.

He knew something was coming. He started to take her out to fancy restaurants -- the ones that can make any dish sound worth handing over your first-born for. As if having concrete nouns for the memories would help. In later years he sometimes thought he would regret this decision were it not for the fact that he could never again afford to eat at such restaurants.

For years he visited her grave. Sometimes he cursed. Sometimes he cursed everyone else. Mostly he just talked to her like he always had, though. And more and more he found himself slipping into Hebrew. _Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you...._


End file.
